


scratching the itch

by mako_lies (wingeddserpent)



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Community: fan_flashworks, Drinking, Gen, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2144337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingeddserpent/pseuds/mako_lies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After not becoming squashed tomatoes, a ninja and a Turk enter a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	scratching the itch

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: enemies at fan_flashworks.

By midnight the bar is nearly empty, and Yuffie glares down into her beer. It’s something cheap, imported from Midgar, and marked up for tourists and it tastes like piss. She grimaces around a mouthful.  

Raw and red rope burn stings her ankles when she shifts her legs. She hisses between her teeth. Cloud and the others are resting in Godo’s house—isn’t that a trip? They’re leaving in the morning. Who knows what happens then. But her pockets are lighter than they’ve ever been, but somehow she’s heavier. Yuffie swallows more piss.

“So, we meet again,” comes a woman’s voice. 

And oh, does she reek of Shinra. Yuffie clutches her glass tighter without bothering to look back. The chair beside her scrapes the floor as the Turk lady pulls it back. She sits, orders the same shitty beer Yuffie is drinking—probably reminds her of home. Anger coils hot to die like a cobra in the jaws of a mongoose, and Yuffie orders another. 

Turk doesn’t talk—isn’t that a first, damn—until after she finishes her first beer. “This sucks,” she says, into the relative silence of the bar. “Like they needed an excuse to think I’m incompetent.”

“…You could be a squashed tomato. That’d suck worse.”

With a snort, Turk waves the bartender over for a refill. “Yeah. I’m not so sure,” she mutters, and Yuffie finally glances over at her.

Her jacket’s unbuttoned and her tie’s loose like Reno’s, and Yuffie really wishes that she’d undone the first few buttons on her shirt. Well, that’d be too much like winning today. She eyes the Turk’s boobs, anyway. Maybe if Yuffie makes her uncomfortable, she’ll go back to the rest of her Shinra posse and leave her alone. 

(There’s some humor that the Shinra lapdogs come here for vacation, now. But Yuffie doesn’t smile around her next mouthful of booze.)

“Next time we see each other—“ the Turk begins. 

“You’re going to have to kill me blah blah blah,” finishes Yuffie, scratching at one of the marks on her wrists, and it flares hot with pain beneath her nail, “Sound about right?”

The Turk takes a drink instead of saying something stupid, which is _awesome_. Seriously, what has Yuffie’s life become? She fucked up her mission, got abducted by a fat pervert, and now’s she’s drinking Midgar piss with a Turk. And she thought her existence couldn’t get any worse than living alone in a forest. Yuffie makes a face. “You shouldn’t pick at that.” Looks like the silence was short-lived. 

“…You’re not my mother. Shinra killed her, remember,” Yuffie snaps, waving the guy over for more beer.

Instead, the dude gives her water. What a jackass. 

She drinks it though, because she’s a little thirsty and it’s something to do with her mouth that doesn’t involve cussing or crying. Under her breath, the Turk mutters, “This is so above my pay grade,” but then, louder, she says, “Sorry. But, you really shouldn’t pick at that. Do you need a potion?”

Yuffie scowls at her. “No, thanks.” 

“Right.” She taps her manicured nails against the table, and Yuffie wants to strangle her, but slurps her water instead. 

Once the Turk finishes her beer, she lays out enough gil on the table to pay for both their drinks. Plus tip. Yuffie’s mouth curls into a snarl, and she drains the last of her water as the Turk leaves without a look backwards. She slams the glass down on the table, hands shaking, and—out of spite—she picks the wound on her wrist till it bleeds. Because fuck her. 

 

The next morning finds her setting off with the gang. And they even give her some materia to equip. A sign of good faith or something. Yuffie isn’t going to complain. 


End file.
